Sometimes, I feel as though life is just one big joke. Like the moments that I feel are successful, are simply pranks that can be used against me at a later point. Because nothing ever seems to come easily, and when it does come -it never lasts.
I’ve thought numerous times on how to say this, yet each time -I get hung up on the words, the details, the logistics of it all. I hate forcing words. But lately that seems to be all that I have been doing. Forcing the words to fit. I keep thinking that by doing so, I will eventually find my groove and be able to write without thinking. I keep waiting -yet nothing is happening.
Nearly eight years ago I made up my mind that I would not stop trying until I had accomplished my goal. I didn’t think I would succeed. Didn’t think it would actually work out, yet somehow -it did. And nearly seven years ago -I was waking up with three kids under the same roof. It was something that people tried to tell me not to do -for more than one reason. Why would I want to do this to them? Why would I think that I could raise three kids on my own? Didn’t I know there were areas of life that I didn’t understand?
I ignored everything and pushed forward -with my ONLY reasoning being that if I was going to get shoved to the curb, at least I knew I tried and did everything I could.
Adding in Josh’s complications only deepened the theory that I should not be raising these kids. After all -what did I know? Didn’t I know that taking him on would ruin the other kids? The advice that I should just “Let him go, and focus on the others” was laid on heavy. Yet I ignored it, and pushed towards the end goal that one day: They would all be together.
I didn’t think I could go wrong if I kept their best interest at the center.
Yet somehow, along the way, I have managed to mess even that up.
And nearly seven years later, with the one thing that I have worked so hard for coming unraveled before my eyes…I have no where to turn. I’m faced with the decision yet again to either fight to the end, or give up. And right now, giving up seems like the best bet. For all involved.
After all -what do I know about raising kids?
I didn’t realize that I could be so wrong and so right at the same time. I didn’t realize that giving them each other would only tear them apart. I didn’t realize that keeping their best interest at heart would bring so much heartache and pain. I didn’t realize that trying to give them the best would eventually, turn into the worst.
I’m trying to wade through some complicated, deep and frustrating decisions. I’m trying to balance the line of what’s good, what’s best and what’s needed. I’m trying to keep best interests at heart, while calculating in those confusing areas of life that no one warns you about. People never answer the questions that are pressing on my mind, but since there is no “one size fits all” kind of answer -I’m left scraping the bottom looking for answers myself.
The one area of my life that I counted as a success, the one thing I worked so hard and so long for -is coming apart. And while something deep down inside of me wants to fight for it, the logical part of me says to let it go while I can. And maybe someday, if its meant to be -it will come back.
If not -at least I can say I tried.
With everything in me.
I fought for them, to keep them together, to give them a life, to give them each other -and all it has done is torn them apart, sent them seeking answers in areas of life that only end in death, and erased any hopes of them ever having a life.
I guess I should have given it up years ago. But at least I can honestly say I tried. I screwed up. I failed.
I can look into the eyes of the well meaning by standards who have told me time and time again to stop trying, to give them up, to let it go -and say “You were right.”